


Baby, Please Come Home

by koffkoffstyles (blametheone)



Series: Koff Koff's Christmas Countdown [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Baby Please Come Home, Christmas, Christmas fic, Erskine never shows up, M/M, Soldier Bucky, but its also christmas themed, but sad, just bucky goes off to war and its the first christmas steve spends without him since thy met, not only is it the war-wife AU no one asked for, pre-serum steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 12:46:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8801371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blametheone/pseuds/koffkoffstyles
Summary: Steve was never approached by Erskine and never got enlisted, instead he saw Bucky off after that night of dancing and drinking with the girls. And spent Christmas wishing his soldier would come back home to him. (Basically, its the Christmas themed war wife fic that no one asked for.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> There are many versions of this song, but my personal favourite is Josh Ramsay’s [ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q03X01ZgSkA ], because I’m always a slut for Marianas Trench. If you prefer Death Cab For Cutie’s or Mariah’s or whatever then feel free to listen to that, but the link is there if you want to try Josh’s. Because that's what this was written to/based off.

Steve had spent every Christmas Eve since he could remember with Bucky. The first year they met, Winnie had opened up her house and invited Sarah and Steve to spend Christmas with them (only if that was completely, one hundred percent okay with Sarah, Winnie never overstepped onto other people’s traditions), claiming that she ‘honestly, needed the help’ when Sarah had insisted they’d probably be a burden. Winnie had, additionally, gestured to the twin babies on a mat in the living room, and at that moment a young toddler had run through the room being chased by Bucky, who was in turn being chased by his father.

Winnie had turned to Sarah with a face that looked impossibly tired, and also as if she was completely unsurprised with the goose chase.

Sarah said nothing, though Steve and Winnie could both see the amused grin threatening to pull at her lips. Winnie, thankfully, smiled also, and the two mothers retired to the kitchen, Bucky coincidentally running through the room and noticing Steve just at that moment.

And ever since that night, the families had merged and spent Christmas Eve and morning together. Sarah and George always cooked Christmas dinner together, while Winnie helped the children string popcorn for the tree. Bucky and Steve, once old enough, began helping and eventually taking over Christmas breakfast. When George left (the Depression too great a burden on his shoulders, Sarah hand Steve had stayed at the Barnes house for a whole week in that aftermath), Bucky joined Sarah in the kitchen for Christmas dinner, and Steve helped the twins with popcorn stringing.

Even when Bucky and Steve left home and moved into an apartment together, they both went back to the Barnes household and met Sarah there, all still spending Christmas together.

But when Steve was nineteen years old, Sarah Rogers passed away, and took some of the Christmas magic with her. It was difficult, and instead of going to the Barnes residence, Bucky went to the house alone, said hello to his sisters, dropped presents off under the tree and taken a quick ten minutes to help his mother with seasoning the turkey, explained that he and Steve wouldn’t be spending the night with them, but might come over in the morning.

(Actually, he told his mother not to count on them coming over, no matter that Steve insisted he’d be fine to come in the morning for breakfast, Bucky knew Steve would not be okay enough in the morning to come over for breakfast).

Bucky went home after that, kissing all his sisters’ cheeks and bidding them the first Happy Christmas he wouldn’t be there for with them.

But despite the fact that Steve and Bucky didn’t spend that Christmas with the whole Barnes clan, they still spent it with each other. They had a quiet dinner, joked about Christmas carols, they prayed together and thanked God for his Son, and Bucky scooped Steve up into his arms and refused to take no for an answer as they slept in Steve’s bed together. Steve woke up in the middle of the night, sweating and screaming with tears just threatening on his eyelids, and Bucky just hushed him back to sleep, and cooked breakfast in the morning for Steve to wake up to.

And the next year, and the one after that and after that, they were back at Winnie’s house with the girls. Steve and Bucky made dinner while Winnie strung popcorn with Rebecca and the twins. Every single Christmas.

Steve blinked as he washed the plate in his hands, staring out the window. He had washed the same plate five times now, put it in the rack four times and pulled it back out each time without realising. The water was cold. It was also probably dirty.

Outside it was snowing, white and flurry and bitter cold. Steve hated the cold. Bucky loved it.

The fire was crackling off to his right, and Steve thought distantly that he should probably check on it to make sure it’s not a) exploding or something equally dangerous, or b) going out. Maybe once he’d finished washing this plate.

It was Christmas Eve, and Bucky wasn’t here.

Steve had seen Bucky off earlier in the year, months ago. Bucky had spent last Christmas with them, but spent the whole time feeling guilty that he wasn’t enlisted yet. It was, then, eighteen days since the Japs struck American soil and Bucky was ready to go and fight for his country. He left in the January of ’42. It was now the December of ’42. Pearl Harbour was one year and eighteen days ago, and Bucky was in Europe, fighting off Nazis.

And Steve was in Brooklyn, in their shared apartment, washing his plate for the sixth time.

Their combined ignorance and stupidity was what kept turning round and round in Steve’s head. The last night before Bucky left – all spiffed up in his Sergeant’s uniform, the little punk – they had gone out dancing and drinking with a girl Bucky was charming and her friend who all but shunned Steve.

It was nice, it was a nice night. Well. It was nice for the briefest moments where Steve forgot that Bucky was shipping off to war the next morning and Steve still hadn’t managed to kiss him yet. Would never get to, probably, he kept telling himself. If Bucky came back from war Steve wasn’t ever going to let him go.

But that would be years away (or possibly never, but Steve didn’t want to think about that). Steve had only realised his own feelings for Bucky after they accidentally mutually confessed liking boys one night a month or two ago, and after blabbering on about cock and other stupid things, Steve had gone to bed and realised – _oh_. He liked _Bucky_.

But he hadn’t acted on it, not before or after Bucky enlisted. And when the last night came, Steve decided to let it go. It obviously wasn’t meant to be, if they were being split up like this before anything had even started. Saying something then would only mean that Bucky left to war with no closure, either despising Steve or constantly thinking about him.

But, after they had walked the girls home, Bucky had gotten this look in his eye like he too had just realised this could very well be the last time he sees Steve, and they had confessed things over wine Steve never thought he’d ever hear even in his wildest fantasies coming from Bucky’s mouth. And, with the same lost and desperate look in his eye, he and Bucky had gotten lost in each other on their living room couch. Bucky had almost left without saying goodbye the next morning, only Steve heard his belt buckle clink and saw him off with a tender goodbye and promise that Bucky would fight for him.

They left it to the very last moment, and Steve hated himself so very much for it. They could have had at least a month together, and if Steve had realised it sooner they maybe could have had even longer. But instead they got one night.

Steve finally moved on to the next plate, just managing to stop himself from a seventh wash.

When the war-wives gossiped on street corners Steve always wanted to join in, now. He hadn’t, for the first few months Bucky was gone. He rolled his eyes at them (to himself, he still respected the women, he was only frustrated with the gossiping activity) until around May, when it all got too much. Winnie called Steve up to say that Bucky had called her for two minutes, and Steve was suddenly washed over with a never-ending longing that hadn’t stopped since.

Now, when he heard women talking about how long their poor John had been away, how much they missed their Robert’s laugh, or how they wish their William would be home to see the children, now Steve always wanted to chime in with how much he missed his James’ whistling, or his singing, his cooking, his jokes, his dancing, his flirting, his teasing.

Steve washed another plate blindly, the radio in the corner that had been idly playing finally catching his attention. They were playing classic Christmas tracks.

Steve’s eyes darkened and his wrenched his hands from the water, towelling them off aggressively as he stormed over to the radio and flipped it off. There were no Christmas carols without Bucky, not in this house, not on Steve’s watch.

Speaking of. Steve glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed. He needed to get some rest. He had been to the Barnes house earlier, spoken with Winnie and helped her cook Christmas dinner, telling her he couldn’t stay long but promising to be over in the morning. He had promised.

Steve went back to the sink and gave up on washing dishes, letting the sink drain away and putting his head in his hands instead. Just for a few moments, just to breathe and recollect his thoughts.

Some of the men got leave, sometimes. Only for a few days, or sometimes even just twenty-four hours, but oh God that would be enough for Steve. He just needed to see Bucky again, to hear his voice. He hoped that next time Bucky was able to make a phone call he’d be able to make one to Steve. But then, Steve didn’t think he could handle hearing Bucky’s voice finally, after all this time. He’d probably cry, in all honesty. Steve Rogers had cried twice in his whole life since infanthood, once when he was really, really on his death bed and he woke up the next morning and his fever had broken and he was back to the land of the living, and once again the night of his mother’s funeral.

But Steve didn’t doubt he would cry again if Bucky spoke to him right now.

Seventeen Christmases Steve and Bucky had spent together. Seventeen of them, all in a row. As far back as Steve could remember, and now he was all alone on Christmas Eve. No presents, no tree, no popcorn, no dinner. No Bucky.

Steve turned off all of the lamps and made sure the fire was safe to keep glowing through the night to keep him warm, and climbed into Bucky’s bed.

“Please,” Steve whispered, staring up at the window, up at the dark sky. He couldn’t see the moon, or the stars, shrouded by dark clouds, but he wasn’t talking to the stars. “Please, bring him home.”

 

\--

 

Bucky sighed where he lay, huddled in a foxhole with two other soldiers. He knew what the date was, one of the privates had informed him earlier that day that it was Christmas Eve.

Bucky rubbed his fingers over the ring on his middle finger. It was a thick silver band, with a Celtic crest of some description on the spread top that rested above his knuckle. It was Joseph’s.

It had never fit Steve, but was his from the moment Joseph passed away, so long before Steve met Bucky. The morning that Bucky left, Steve had pushed it onto his finger and looked away, pretending it wasn’t as big of a deal as it obviously was. Bucky should have taken it off, should have insisted that he was coming home, should have reminded Steve who the ring actually belonged to – but he was honoured, for one, to be given the privilege. And for another, it meant he had a little part of Steve with him all the way across the world now.

Bucky looked up at the sky, clear (for once) despite the cold. He wondered idly if Steve was looking at the same moon.

“Merry Christmas, Steve,” he whispered to the ring, right up against his lips, pulled his jacket tight around himself, and readied himself for another hour of sentry duty.

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know if i'm sorry or not. gonna try for happier christmas fics. LOVE YOU ALL, MERRY NON-DENOMINATIONAL HOLIDAY!


End file.
